In the Eleventh Hour
by Celeste Rose
Summary: [Oneshot] Two former lovers hold a conversation before the events of Also sprach Zarathustra. This is my first Xenosaga story...


Disclaimer: I don't own Xenosaga...

Author's Note: This is my first Xenosaga story, and it's really different from my typical style of writing.

In the Eleventh Hour

He stood there, his eyes wandering over the lights of the city. It reminded him of his first home, with its neon colored lights, those vivid shades piercing the darkness of the world below. The winds tousled his dark hair, making it fall in his face. He impatiently flicked the strands away. It was passed the slated time, the eleventh hour. He smirked at the thought of the coincidence.

_She must have remembered. _

That foolish song they used to listen to during their tumultuous youth. To choose your own poison be it woman or drink... He shook his head from his thoughts, and checked the antique watch on his wrist. The minutes had flown by, and still she hadn't shown. The hour had already halfway passed. Still he waited, watching the city from above to merely pass his time.

His thoughts gradually drifted back to the past once more. The raven-haired man thought of their fascination with all things ancient, he smiled gently at the memories. No matter how much they didn't matter now he couldn't forget it. After all, that part of his life was behind him now. Was it not? He wondered why she had even called him those many weeks ago... Why would she even care? What could she want?

He bit back a sigh, almost ready to give in and head back to the motel. Instead he decided to wait. A few moments later he heard her soft footsteps crossing the roof. He didn't bother to turn around and confirm it was her, he would know the sound of those heels from anywhere. He couldn't forget, no matter how much he tried. He hated himself for honing onto that sound, even after all of these years...

"Why did you call me here?" he muttered into the darkness when she joined him at the wall.

"He still wants to kill you, he hardly cares about harming the others." she answered. Her voice cold and stoic. _Broken._

"I know. Is that all you wished to tell me?" he glanced over to look at her. The years had taken a tough toll on her beauty. The once soft lovely grace and easy smile she had carried about her had disappeared a long time ago. It had been replaced by a constant frown, and the occasional bitter scowl. Still, she was beautiful in his eyes. It was yet another thing he hated himself for.

"No," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "Its not."

He fully turned now, leaning his side against the wall that reached up to his hips. The winds were now stronger, casting his dark heavy overcoat into the air along with his hair. He rose a black eyebrow; waiting for her answer.

"I'm not sorry."

He nodded, he could understand. He wasn't either. What had happened between them had to have happened for a reason. Maybe he didn't know the exact reason, but he could guess it had something to do with his white haired friend. Everything seemed to revolve around that ageless boy.

"I'm also not sorry. Be it you're talking about both the beginning and the end. I'm not sorry for either."

It was her turn now to nod. Her short blonde hair was wispy in the wind. He felt the urge to reach out and touch the soft strands, but he fought the feeling down.

_Down to hell where it belonged. _

His viridian eyes now avoided her's, taking in the panorama of the city below, and the faint essence of the stars above them. The low hanging moon was obscured by clouds, and far in the distance blue-hued lightning forked and flickered across the sky. The winds were now becoming stronger because of the coming storm...

He felt a hand on his shoulder, his eyes quickly swept back to her. "We might not meet on friendly terms the next time we see each other," she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

He thought maybe he could hear a tremble of fear warbling in her cold voice. _Maybe._ He reckoned those treacherous thoughts to probable insanity.

"Jin, I wanted to say goodbye. Just encase something happens." she looked him in the eyes. He met her teal eyes with his own green.

"What makes you think something will happen?" he muttered.

"I don't know. I just have this feeling." she said softly, her hand still on his shoulder.

He glanced at the limb; it was still small and shapely. Just like he remembered it. He reached up and covered her small hand with his large one. His other arm drew her closer, and for a moment she let him hold her. Just like all those years ago. He looked down at her, Pellegri's face was partially buried in his shoulder, her eyes rose and met his once more. She lifted her head and looked at him, their faces came closer. Neither knew who it was that leaned in first; he pressed his lips to her's for one last feather soft kiss before he let her go.

She gave him a smile, that particular expression she had reserved solely for him all those years ago. For a moment she wasn't a thirty six year old bitter woman, she was that twenty one year old beauty he had pursued. He smiled back, his expression softening really for the first time that night. They both let the other see the last vestiges of their past selves, if only for a moment.

"So this is goodbye."

She nodded. "Yes, this is goodbye," she whispered. Pellegri walked across the roof, she paused at the door to the lift and turned to face him one last time. Her hair tousled by the wind, and her eyes sparkling, she smiled once more before she resumed the outward facade she usually wore. Then she stepped onto the lift and out of his life possibly for forever.

He glanced out towards the city; rain had started to fall across part of it. It obscured and dimmed the lights, blurring them together almost. He finally made his way back to his motel room, and stood at the window, watching the incoming storm. In more ways than one the universe he knew was about to light up in an electric conflagration similar to the one outside his window. What will come will come. What began in the eleventh hour will end in the eleventh hour. That was simply the way of life, and Jin Uzuki had accepted this wisdom long ago.

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